The Wild Ones
by nlizzette7
Summary: "They were older now, no longer inexperienced freshmen wasting their freedom away. They were broken into their drinking habits, they knew how to kiss, how to duck into clubs with a flash of a smile or Daddy's last name. Everything was changing, for better or for worse." / The next generation of Gossip Girl.
1. Pilot

Gossip Girl here. It's been nearly twenty years since I last left off with our favorite Upper East Siders. Chuck and Blair finally rang their wedding bells – till _schemes _do them part, of course. Speaking of, Serena and Dan tied the knot soon after. We all know that **S** can't let poor **B** have all of the glory. And let's not forget about Nate, who found some nobody to marry with even prettier hair than his.

But let's not dwell on the old and boring. There are new kids in town, and if they think they're surviving the Upper East Side unscathed… Well, they're dead wrong.

**Henry Bass – **With his mother and father dueling over his career path, poor **H** is cracking under the pressure and feeling more abandoned than ever. He'll soon be spotted at **The Ring**, Manhattan's infamous underground fighting club – where even the toughest are known to fall. Maybe he should've stuck to working for Mommy and Daddy.

**Charlotte Camden – **Little Miss Perfect is back from summer vacation with a new _eff it_ attitude. Wonder what brought her down this summer. Careful, **C**. Getting high can only numb you for so long, and things are usually ten times worse when you come back down.

**Keane Archibald – K** is done being in **H**'s shadow, doing the gang's homework, missing out on the girl he loves. He's back with a vengeance this year, and _somebody _is going down. I don't know, **K**. Every good team needs their doormat.

**Avery Humphrey - **We all have a tendency to go mad now and then, but it looks like **A **might need to pop a Xanax. Or two. She's an import from nowhere land, and with an ex-bombshell and probable sociopath playing her new Mommy and Daddy, she's bound to be on everyone's radar.

**Ella and Jack Frohlinger – **Seems like **E** and **J** have gone back to lurking in the shadows. _Yawn_. After **E**'s summer at fat camp and **J**'s sudden wild tirade across Europe, who knows what these two are bound to cook up. I guess they don't know when enough is enough. But this year they're not just playing with fire. They're going up in flames.

Careful, kids. There's a new Gossip Girl in town. Lock up your secrets, hide your scandals, and be careful what you text. Enjoy the first day of school while you still can. Because come winter, I'm sparing no one.

_It's so good to be back._

You know you love me.

XOXO, Gossip Girl.

* * *

**1. Pilot**

**Rise and shine, Upper East Siders. It's officially time to trade in your Bergoff bikinis and Vodka martinis for plaid skirts and hidden flasks in the boiler room. Don't you just love the first day of school?**

**Spotted: C **looking a little wasted coming off of her flight this morning. Better sober up. I don't think Constance serves duty-free. **E **walking the **Highline **in Prada heels and secondhand sweats. Her pseudo parents were an exception, kids. Don't try the mix at home.

And then there were **H **and **K**, passing a joint back and forth in **Central Park**. Is that a new haircut on **K**? How cute. Too bad we've already seen it on a certain Bass. Better luck next time. But where are **E **and **J**? They've managed to dodge my radar all summer.

But that ends today.

:::

Charlotte Camden was eight years old when she was promised the world.

She remembered her father, remembered herself in a thin chiffon dress, head-to-toe magenta back when it was _pink or die_. Edward Camden had sat her down in their grand little sitting room, pressed the wrapped package into her ruddy little palms, and waited for her to rip open the silky giftwrap. She'd been hopeful when she was young, wild-hearted and ambitious in a city that held such promise for who she was destined to be. So when the package opened up to reveal a golden locket with diamond-encrusted globe at its center, Charlotte had held it close with wide eyes.

"For my little diplomat," Edward had promised. "You'll change the entire world someday. But, for now – " Edward kissed the top of her forehead, ruffled her light brown curls with his fingertips. " – it'll be in your safekeeping."

Hours later, her father found her in the exact same spot, nestled up with her new treasure as the room fell beneath the hazy cover of sunset. Edward came to sit with her again, covered her hand with his, and asked her what was wrong.

"Oh, Daddy," the little girl had sighed. "I have the world now. I'm waiting to see all the rest."

Though it should have merely been a whimsical child's amusing ramble, Charlotte _did _see the rest. She climbed higher, pushed harder, got everything she wanted and took it how she pleased. In middle school, she reached the top of her class and had been holding the spot for so long that teachers often used her test papers as answer sheets. In high school, she hit puberty, and it came in the form of luscious brown locks, even brighter blue eyes, and the body of a dancer – which she later became. And a _good _one at that.

Boys began their attempts to court her in high school, buying her drinks at the Tribeca, waiting for her after class, after her ballet practices to sneak a peek at her in her leotard. But she'd pass them by with the slightest roll of her eyes every time. Because the second semester of freshman year hit, the Constance girls were given permission to mingle in the courtyard at lunch, and there was only one boy that Charlotte had eyes for.

"I'm Henry Bass."

Charlotte had looked up at the boy, dark hair and hazel eyes, a handsome jaw and a smile that revealed nothing, but seemed to taunt her with all he had. There was a wickedness in Henry, but there was also kindness there. She knew who he was, who his parents were. Henry was handsome, a classic, and he wanted big things. Charlotte bit down on her lip then, pulled her mink coat tight around her leotard and reached up to unravel the bun pinned at the top of her head.

"I know," came Charlotte's steady reply. Henry was standing by his limo out front one afternoon, long after the final bells had rung and the halls between Constance and Saint Jude's had fallen to Charlotte's favorite kind of silence. She hadn't bothered with waiting for her town car to come around that day, and Henry grinned as she hefted her duffel over one shoulder and whistled for a cab.

"I watched you dance."

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at him, sitting so easily on the hood of his limo, tie slightly loosened around his neck, hair ruffled in the most perfect way she'd ever seen. She smiled once, then sobered up, turning back to the blur of rush hour traffic.

"Did you?" Charlotte asked, raising her voice over the angry honk of a city bus. She had to admit that Henry got points for this one. Usually, there were dopey one-liners, pathetic excuses for catcalls when she decided to indulge the suitors in her boredom. But this…intrigued her. A boy like Henry, sitting through her rendition of _Giselle_? That was something boys did when they –

"I like you," Henry remarked, hopping up from his perch. He wasn't much taller than Charlotte, just a few inches at most. So when he stood before her, brought her hailing arm back down to her side, Charlotte realized that he could kiss her in a second.

One corner of Charlotte's lips lifted. "Thanks."

Henry was amused by this. "No problem." He released her hand, lifted her bag from her shoulder so quickly that Charlotte was thrown off balance for a moment. In a flash, she saw him toss it into the backseat of his limo, then pull the door open in her direction. Charlotte rolled her eyes, slipped past Henry and flushed when she caught the sweet scent of his cologne.

"You're very sure of yourself, Henry Bass," Charlotte murmured sleepily, crossing her arms over her chest as they rolled up 73rd. He laughed, and it sounded so much like Charlotte's breathy chuckle that she immediately felt at home.

And in the dim winter light, right in the heart of the city, Henry looked over, traced his pinky over hers, and whispered, "I know."

But that was before, back when Charlotte was at the tip of the world, when she had fallen headfirst for Henry and believed that she was untouchable with him at her side.

But she had continued to fall, beyond him and beyond herself, spiraling into a collision so sharp that the view would never again be the same. Charlotte had never held the world in her hands at all. She was just another victim of its crushing weight.

Now, two years later, hours before the start of her junior year, Charlotte Camden held her breath underwater, sinking down until her head was resting against the bottom of her bathtub. She left her eyes open, watched as the water danced over her skin, a tangle of light brown hair pulling across the stream like a storm. She lifted her fingers to catch the light, a pointless thing she used to do as a child. And though Charlotte was not a poet – nowhere near it – she decided that the sight was sort of beautiful. Things looked so amazing when you were underneath, on the other side. Things were so different.

Until those lines were blurred, of course.

Charlotte lied there until her throat hiccupped in protest and her hands jerked up of their own accord to seek safety. She broke the surface of the water, gasping for breath, wild, wet hair stuck to her red cheeks, as her phone trilled from the edge of the tub. She picked it up, soaked the screen with wet fingers. It was yet _another _text to add to the symphony of messages she'd gotten since landing back in New York.

_Char, can I come over? __**– Henry**_

_Um, hi Char. How was your trip? Want to, like, hang before school starts? I mean, with Henry and the rest of them? So yeah. Let me know. __**– Keane**_

_Everything feels so fucked up without you here, Char. I'm going a bit crazy. Call me? __**-Henry**_

_Hey, mystery girl. Drop by our dad's club tonight. One last hurrah before junior year of hell? __**– Ella**_

_Char, are you ignoring me? Because I –_

Charlotte swallowed, pinched the skin just under her thigh, and pressed the delete button next to Henry's name. She'd done an easy job of avoiding him, avoiding all of them on her trip. _Yeah, no, sorry can't hear you. Shitty reception in Italy._ But now that she was back, she was stuck. Charlotte would have to face them eventually. Constance was the smallest big school in Manhattan. No matter how hard you tried to blend into the sea of plaid and navy, you couldn't stay hidden for long.

Charlotte stepped out of the bath, leaving a trail of wet footsteps behind, and threw on the uniform her mother had laid out on the bed for her. She couldn't quite remember the point at which her mother's voice had faded into a broken song of nothing. Perhaps it had been when her father took his last breath on a cold hospital bed alone because Charlotte had carried on with her ballet recital as planned. She swallowed, patted down the stiff kilt.

_It's the first day of your junior year, Charlotte. It's important to make a good first impression. It's important to know your place, be in the right social groups, have the right extra –_

Charlotte winced, searched her room for a forgotten relic of Henry's, a bottle they'd hidden away under a stack of flouncy shirt fabrics. They drank the bottle to get tipsy when he stayed over, never on a night before a recital or a big test, just to loosen up, just to stay up hours laughing and whispering and talking about absolutely nothing. But now, it would serve a different purpose. Her mother could talk for hours, but it was easy to shut her up in Charlotte's head. Vodka and _voila_.

When she was done, she winced at the bitterness on her tongue and caught her reflection in the vanity mirror. It was the…cleanest she'd been all summer. Pin straight brown hair, bright blue eyes, skirt of the _appropriate _length, blank face.

"This isn't you. Not after what happened. Not anymore," she whispered. She tried un-tucking her shirt with shaking fingers, rolling up her skirt, smearing kohl liner under her eyes until the image of the prim, smiling ballerina she'd once been was just a memory. She narrowed her eyes at her reflection, thinking.

_Your hair says a lot about you, Charlotte. Long hair is more feminine, more put-together. It's very important for –_

Charlotte dug in her desk for a pair of scissors and grabbed her silky brown ponytail in one hand, refusing the look at herself when she raised the blade and held her breath.

The strands fell to the floor in one clean cut, scattering around her Tory Burch flats.

She only wished that erasing all the rest could be that easy.

:::

Henry Bass rarely worried. He had never found any need to. He wasn't too cocky, never tried too hard to prove a point because there was nothing to be proven. Henry's parents always talked about him like he was pre-destined for greatness – he swore that they would wear crowns to parade around Manhattan if they could – but he was content with what he had: a penthouse overlooking the greatest city in the world, a father who smoked cigars with him on the rooftop so that his mother wouldn't freak, friends who always had something going on, and a girlfriend who –

A girlfriend who had disappeared for three months.

Henry paced in Charlotte's foyer now, jaw strained as he awaited the faint pitter-patter of her footsteps upstairs. She had always been his best friend, an ironic confidant in the form of a delicate dancer. He was hers, and she was his – and it was difficult to remember a time before Henry had her hooked under his arm, fixing his tie, then mussing it up again when he kissed her between periods. They were so natural – no pursuant, no heartbreak.

They'd once been sitting at the head of his grand stairwell, listening to his parents mess around in their kitchen.

_"I've been waiting to play the Holly to your Fred for years, Bass." _They heard fabric slip from a shoulder, a soft giggle, then the rough scrape of a chair against marble tiles. Henry's nose crinkled, and Charlotte tensed up, blue eyes widening in utter horror.

"Oh my God," Charlotte had hissed when she snapped out of her initial shock, shoving at Henry's shoulder in scolding. "They're roleplaying, Henry!" Henry smirked, ruffled her hair, then raised a finger to one of her pink lips to shush her. She slapped his hand away, tied her loose strands back into a tight ponytail. "What are we doing?"

"Future blackmail," Henry explained, pressing the record button on his phone. "I'd feel bad, but…" He trailed off and shrugged, a faint dimple appearing on his right cheek, just like the one on Blair's. "They taught me how to do it."

"As if your parents feel any shame," Charlotte had smirked. "Besides, I thought that we could do some playing of our own." Her eyes suddenly shifted, brightening into a more playful blue. He liked this, liked how she could be whoever she wanted, liked how they kept up with each other. Charlotte when at things with an intensity that no other girl could match, and it was always reflected back at him with the slight widening of her eyes, the way they darkened when she was onstage, lightened when she was tipsy and didn't need music to dance at all.

"You're right," Henry chuckled, lifting his phone as if the object were useless. He went to get up, but Charlotte pulled him back down, hushing him when he grunted at the impact. Henry cocked his head to the side, realized that there weren't moans or whimpers emanating from the other room now. He and Charlotte ducked forward, caught a glimpse of the Basses as they settled down from being all worked up. Though Blair was in a silk bathrobe and Chuck's dress shirt was slightly unbuttoned, they were decent.

"I like her for Henry," Blair said breezily, hooking her legs over her husband's. Chuck smirked, kissed the corner of her lips as he considered this. On the stairwell, Charlotte lifted her lips into a small smile and ducked her head into the curve of his shoulder. "I had been so worried, but he isn't lost at all. I think he's happy."

"He _is _happy," Chuck insisted. "He's his father's son, he has everything he needs, everything he could ever want." He pressed his lips to her neck. "He inherited my limo – " Blair slapped his chest, and Chuck laughed, lifting her dainty fingers to kiss the palm of her hand. "And you like her so much because she reminds you of _you_." At this, Charlotte perked up. It was not a compliment to be taken lightly.

"She _is_ smart," Blair reasoned. "She carries herself well. They _fit_, just like you and I did." Chuck grinned at the faux seriousness in her tone. "And yet he didn't wait two years to sweep her off her feet," Blair sighed, rather resentfully. Chuck lightly tugged on a curl, and she softened once more. "There might just be hope for the next generations of Basses yet."

"Henry." The memory cut off at the sound of her voice. Charlotte was the only girl who could manage to startle him. Henry smiled at this, prepared himself for the reunion he'd been waiting for. He glanced up and was greeted by wide blue eyes and –

_Shit_.

It wasn't Charlotte, Henry decided. This girl…couldn't possibly be Charlotte. Her skirt was pulled up, cinched at the sides to reveal the pale line of her thigh. He swallowed, eyes trailing up the rest of her body to find her shirt just slightly unbuttoned, neckline dipping low enough to reveal the lace underneath. Her eyes were dark, rimmed like she was going out, with makeup put on so sloppily that it looked intentional. And her hair. Her fucking hair was falling in the sexiest choppy waves to her shoulders.

No. This couldn't be the same girl who he'd dated since freshman year. He remembered her wearing that pin-straight bun on each Monday, Thursday, and Saturday for five years, letting it hang loose, straight down to her back, when she wasn't practicing. And now she was running her fingers through her light brown locks, mussing up waves like she didn't give a shit. It fell in her face now – made her look so damn hot.

Henry hadn't realized her hold on him until he'd spent a week, and then another without so much as hearing her voice. He hadn't seen her all summer after she pulled a fucking disappearing act after their end-of-school party. And that had been almost three months ago.

"I missed you so much this summer," he said, taking a step towards her. He opened his arms to her, waited for their hug to commence, but Charlotte didn't even flinch. Instead, she left her arms at her sides, set her lips in a straight line as she leaned back against the railing behind her.

"Oh," Charlotte murmured, without the slightest inflection. Henry shifted forward, then stopped himself when she reached into her studded schoolbag and surfaced with a familiar clear bottle. She kept her eyes on his as she lifted the bottle to her lips and swallowed. Charlotte was trying to prove a point, trying to break him this way before something bigger could.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" Henry raised a brow, decidedly climbed a step until they were at the same height. His knees brushed hers, and she buckled just slightly for a moment.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well…" Henry trailed off, ignored how empty her voice sounded when she spoke to him. "We have exactly three months to catch up on, and I intend on starting today, preferably in a moving vehicle, exploring just how short this skirt can go..." He looked everywhere but at her eyes, afraid of what he would find there. He stared down at her collar, tried an amused grin when he reached up to cup her jaw with one hand. "Now, your chariot awaits."

"I want you to leave, Henry."

He didn't understand the words at first. She watched his expression sink slowly, his eyes narrowing, his jaw tensing, the smile dropping until he looked nothing like the boy who'd driven her home two years before. Charlotte cleared her throat, pressed her fingernails into the rough curve of her palm, forgetting that a scar was already there.

"Henry, I want you to – "

"I heard you the first time," Henry rasped. His voice was weaker, and his hands slid from her skin and down to his sides.

Charlotte's eyes flickered up, and she prepared herself for the blow. "So _go_."

Henry flinched, visibly jerking back as if she'd just slapped him across the face. His features twisted, and Charlotte pressed into her skin harder, forced herself not to fall back into his arms, to say it was a cruel joke and head off to school on his arm. But she held her stance, lifted her chin indignantly.

"I'm not going anywhere," Henry stated, just as stubborn as she was. "You've been gone for three months." His hands were on her again, holding her chin in place, sliding across the nape of her neck. Charlotte's lips fell open of their own accord and though she tried to push him away, he wouldn't let her go. "Three months," Henry repeated. "I've been going out alone, calling you like an idiot, sobering up to manage without you here." Henry shook his head, reeling over his own words. "But I forget all of that, show up at your house despite everything else…" His hand slid down to her shoulder. "And you kick me out?"

Charlotte paused for a moment. "Yes." She shrugged her shoulder, glanced up at the ceiling. "I can get to school on my own. I can _manage _on my own. We're done here."

"Did something happen in Italy?" Through it all, Henry was still so concerned about her. She didn't know whether to love him or hate him for it. The first was all she felt – the latter would set him free from the mess she'd become.

_No, Henry, _she wanted to say. _Before Italy. One night was all it took._

"People change, Henry," was all she replied. "Italy doesn't matter, and summer's over. Just like you and I are." Charlotte focused her eyes on the wall, held up her resolve.

"Just like that? That's it?" Henry asked, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

"That's it," she said.

There was a desperate moment, the quake of her heartbeat, the rush of heat across Henry's skin. "Charlotte, I _love _you," he pleaded, his voice cracking on her name. She had been waiting for it, dreading the words. The tears came quickly, brimmed at the corner of her eyes. Charlotte, blinked, blinked again, then shoved past him en route to escape. She walked over to the elevator and gestured to it.

Charlotte closed her eyes. "Just go."

Somehow, Henry's feet dragged him past her, his mind sluggish. He'd never been dumped before. He was _Henry Bass_. And she was Charlotte Camden. What was there before them? What was there after them? Together they were supposed to be some sort of power couple, just like his mother and father were. And now she was doing this.

Henry stepped into the elevator, pressed his hand into the sliding door to hold it still. Charlotte stood there, eyes trained on the ground when he leaned forward. Henry felt tears in his eyes, angry, pathetic, heavy and unwanted. He set his hand on the wall, dipped his head until he was only a breath away.

"Two years," Henry stated grimly. "Two years, and you can't even look at me."

But she could, and she _did_. Charlotte looked up, just as the elevator doors shut between them. Her eyes widened, and Henry's heart stuttered to a near fatal stop. Because, for once, he could see nothing in them – not even a fighting storm.

:::

It was 8 AM, and she was probably – definitely – late for school, but Ella Frohlinger showed no haste as she stood in front of her mirror, pinching at the skin over her stomach, folding, tucking, and then repeating it all again. She'd tried so hard this summer, struck herself down to 700 calories a day. _I've got early tennis practice, skipping breakfast today!_ _Oh no, I'm allergic to wheat. I'm afraid I'll have to wait till dinner._ _I'm so exhausted. I'll just have a big breakfast tomorrow._

And then again the next day.

Ella shook her head, stepped away from the mirror until the image was bent and distorted. She said nothing, but she could almost feel an ache, a hollowed pain from her silent screams. She was starving, still starving, _always _starving. But it never broke through – or nobody ever bothered to hear her. How could they? Her father was in an insane asylum, her mother was on her way to joining him. She'd once been close to her twin brother, Jack. They'd shared the same pale blonde hair, the same dry humor, had always gotten up to no good whenever they pleased. But for years, he'd withdrawn from her and pulled back into himself. And after that party, some hazy night at the start of summer, he couldn't even look her in the eye.

Her only company now was solitude. _How fucking ironic_.

Ella slung her arm through a little gold tank, her favorite to wear underneath her Oxford and kilt. She leaned over as she hobbled into her clothes and glared at her laptop, the bright screen open to Gossip Girl's clean, silver layout. As always, Charlotte Camden was front and center. Though she was rumpled and frowning after her flight back into New York, she still managed to look pretty, like one of those moody models on the cover of Vogue. Ella narrowed her eyes at Charlotte's thin frame. Her dress fit her perfectly, hung off her like she was born to wear it. Ella looked at herself again, a permanent scowl on her face.

She couldn't help it. In their circle of friends, Charlotte would always be the one that all of the boys wanted, and all of the girls wanted to be. It might have been cliché, but it felt like her own personal tragedy. Because Ella was just…the chubbier friend - the slightly witty girl with nice blonde hair. That was all she had. Funny one-liners and good conditioner.

She slammed the computer shut.

"Ella, we're going to be late for school," Jack called from the hallway. Ella flinched. His voice was emotionless. And though she could feel his fist ponding on her door, it barely made a noise. Years ago, at this time, they'd already be at school, cracking jokes on the freshmen, smoking on the back steps – never caring who caught them. But everything had changed this summer. Her "friends" had all gotten weird and distant. It wasn't that she minded Charlotte's absence – it was a nice reprieve from being in the starlet's unforgiving orbit. But she'd thrown everything off balance. And now her mother was sneaking off _somewhere _every night. And Jack was barely human.

God.

"_Coming,_" Ella called, slipping on a baggy sweater over her tights and kilt. She smiled at herself, or tried to. She practiced the words in her head, the lies that she so often told herself to make it through the day. _You look fine. You look fine. You look fine._

"Ella, hurry up!" her brother called again. Ella nodded, drew in a breath.

She was as ready as she would ever be.

:::

"Man, you've been bitching at me all morning," Keane Archibald called, doing a half-skip in his pathetic attempt to catch up to his best friend. As always, Henry was walking two steps ahead of him. They couldn't even be equal on the _sidewalk_. In the past five blocks, Henry had gone through two cigarettes. His face was furious, his eyes held in anger that he had never seen before, but he wouldn't speak.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Keane tried again, finally managing to fall into step with him. Henry's eyes darkened, jaw clenched, but he said nothing. "Yeah, okay," Keane went on with a bitter sigh, rolling his eyes. "Just fucking mope all the way to school. Don't tell me."

But he was dying to know. Charlotte had gone MIA this summer, leaving the gang all torn up and lost. It was clear now who was at the center of things, and that knowledge made him crave the information all the more. Charlotte and Henry had been on a month-long hiatus, and Keane had been dreading their reunion. But she was nowhere to be found. Henry was alone. Which could only mean…

That Keane was a really shitty friend. Instead of trying to console Henry, he was nearly crossing his fingers behind his back, praying that it was officially over this time. Keane had been in love with Charlotte since –

"Quit daydreaming, and keep up," Henry called over his shoulder. There he went again, treating Keane like some Labrador Retriever who just followed the almighty Bass to school every morning. Keane rolled his eyes, remembering the first time they met. It was a forced friendship, really. They were polar opposites, had nothing in common as the hot-shot and the geek. In fact, Keane wasn't even sure what they talked about when Henry wasn't telling some exaggerated story center stage. But with the bond their fathers had, they expected the same from them.

"How cute!" their mothers had crooned. Even Blair, who had never been the _usual_ Park Avenue mother, not like Andrea, his peppy, heavily Xanaxed mom, had been enthralled by their friendship. "It's the next generation of Archi-Bass." Yeah. Freaking adorable.

"Wow, he speaks," Keane deadpanned, walking even slower, just to spite Henry.

"Don't be a smartass," Henry retorted, turning around to cast him a dirty look. Keane smirked when the movement made him lose sight of the street, made him run right into some Constance girl on her way to school. He and the redhead crashed right into each other, sending them flying in opposite directions.

"Jesus," Henry hissed, brushing off his uniform. He frowned, pushing up from the pavement. There was the slightest of rips in the scarf around his neck. He picked it up, tried to force the threads back in place, but it was too no avail. Henry sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. Nothing seemed to want to stay together that morning.

"I'm sorry," the girl murmured. "I'm…" She trailed off, sounded flustered and slightly dejected. "Sorry," she finished again without fanfare. And then Henry looked up at her, finally catching sight of her face. Irritation curved into a wicked smile.

Keane recognized that smile. He'd seen it the first day they met Charlotte. The day it didn't matter that Keane had seen her first. The day that Henry began to take _everything _he wanted.

"Avery," Henry said, helping the girl up. He caught a few of her fallen books and handed them back to her. Keane stared between the two, arms crossed over his chest. What a fucking gentleman. "You're Avery Humphrey, right? I mean…the name change went through?"

"Yeah...Humphrey," she replied with a heavy sigh. She didn't seem to notice that Henry was working his charm at all. Instead, she seemed to be a little lost in her own wallowing. Keane peered closer, then realized that they _did _know her. Their parents had been talking about Aunt Serena's adopted kid like they were a gossiping track on a broken record. Apparently, she and Dan couldn't make the baby thing happen – for whatever reason – and they'd brought in some teenaged foster kid from Seattle for a permanent adoption at the beginning of the year. They'd all had brunch together a few times this summer, gone to the same galas towards the dying weeks of August. But Avery never seemed to be present, even when she was standing in the room.

"You remember me, right?" Keane offered, stepping over. "I'm Keane…Archibald?"

"Right," Avery said as a weak form of greeting. "Nice to see you guys again. But I'm late, and still need to manage the rest of my morning schedule." She didn't sound like them, hadn't adopted the airiness that was usually indicative of Upper East Side breeding. She stood out in the sea of extravagantly uniformed girls with their cashmere overcoats and manicured nails. Though Avery had stuck to the dress code, she still clung on to a simple black Jansport, bracelets that seemed handmade. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and a few loose tendrils had escaped from the arrangement.

They watched her go for a moment, and Henry's expression shifted into something else. It wasn't like he was into her. No…it as something else. He was cool and calculating, and his mind raced with possibility. Henry dodged past another throng of entering students and called out, "Avery!"

Avery paused, visibly sighed, then turned back to him. "Yes?"

"Assembly's that way." Henry pointed over his shoulder, a calm smile on his lips. Avery nodded, bowed her head in thanks. But he caught her wrist in a gentle way, a friendly gesture before he released her. "Look, there's a party tonight – to ring in the year. It about time you get acquainted with your new life."

Avery tucked a strand of strawberry red behind her ear and frowned. "Or what?"

For a moment, Keane was surprised to find that Henry was rendered speechless. What _was _the opposite of trying to fit in on the Upper East Side? What else did people do without champagne for breakfast, wearing diamonds to the park, and cocktail parties that lasted for days?

Henry opted not to explain. Instead, he said, "You should come. Your mom – " He paused when Avery tensed up, clearly affected by the word. He backtracked, pulled out his phone as he spoke. "I mean, Aunt S will want you there anyway. So you might as well – "

"I'll think about it, okay?" The words came out in a slight huff as Avery lugged her bag over one shoulder. And just as quickly, she disappeared into the crowd until she was just a dot of red down the street – until there was no sight of her at all. Beside Henry, Keane raised his eyebrows and shoved his hands in his pockets quite sloppily.

"There's a party tonight?"

Henry glanced at his friend, then turned his attention back to the phone in his hands. He'd need his mother's style for this – and his father's contacts. As they walked on to class, Henry said, "There is now."

:::

Lunch had once been Charlotte's favorite period. When she actually cared about center tables and fruit salads from the ritzy little deli on Lexington, Charlotte would pull on her coat with Ella and Margaret Hawke – a wannabe actress that she knew from Constance's artsy circuit – and they'd sneak off to the roll of grass opposite of the MET's Egyptian exhibit. They'd smoke pink cigarettes imported from London and nibble on pastries as they waited for the boys.

Now, Charlotte lit up a cigarette on her own as the backs of her knees dug into loose gravel. The restricted balconies overlooked both Constance and St. Jude's outdoor grounds, and though the little alcoves were strictly off-limits to students, the staff only bothered to guard them with dingy little padlocks that snapped open at a gust of wind.

From there, she had a perfect view of the courtyard. Charlotte took a drag, watching as the same girls who'd trashed each other all summer hugged and screamed, _Oh my gosh, I missed you so much._ Classic.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, weighed the cigarette in her hand before she stomped it out with the heel of her shoe, careful not to singe her Burberry.

She didn't have friends. The _thing _that happened before summer made that perfectly clear to her. She had people who followed her around, she had tipsy conversations about things that never mattered. She had people who showed up to the parties she threw, stuffy ballet dancers who would poison her flavored water to land her starring roles if they could. But that night, the night after it happened, Charlotte had pressed her cheek into the grass, cloaked herself in darkness, stared at her phone for hours.

You could have one hundred phone numbers programmed and memorized, but what did it matter if there was no one who'd pick up at the end of the night?

Charlotte lit up another cigarette. She'd always been a more social smoker, two drags before an addiction, just to have something to do. The stick made her sluggish, and she couldn't have that before she performed. But now, her leotard was in pieces, her shoes were broken and bent, strings unraveled and ripped to no point of return. She could smoke as much as she wanted.

But the problem was that Charlotte had done most of this to herself. There _had_ been someone. Charlotte closed her eyes as smoke filled her lungs, and shadowed images of Henry filled her brain. Maybe they hadn't been perfect, but Henry had always been _there_. They didn't get each other half the time, but they _understood_. When he needed her, she was there. And vice versa.

But now, she'd fucked it up. She pushed him away like she pushed everyone away that summer. She couldn't be at the center anymore. She couldn't let them find out. _Destroy yourself before they do it first._ But maybe that was wrong. Maybe she'd made a mistake.

Charlotte pulled out her phone, ran her thumb over the noticeable crack across its screen, then opened her contacts. Her thumb hovered over Henry's name. She inhaled, trying to decide.

_Ding._

She hadn't missed Gossip Girl in Italy. At first, she'd been terrified that the blogger would have gotten her hands on what happened that night. But once June dwindled into July and her mother began to leave her for their resort's posh country club, Charlotte realized that she was in the clear.

But now, Charlotte coughed on smoke, staring down at the image as it slowly loaded, pixel by pixel, onto her screen. Henry. _Her _Henry was on the sidewalk in front of their schools, holding out his phone as a beautiful redhead met his grin head on.

**Looks like Prince Bass has found a new contender to take his side on the throne. Poor newbie A might just take his bait if C's not careful. Watch it, C. There goes your man.**

"Hey, Char. You okay?" Charlotte jumped at the voice, sent her phone across her lap, then face-down on the cement. She cursed under her breath, scrambled to cover the picture with one hand as she glanced up at her intruder.

But it was only Keane – the boy who did all of the work in group projects, who didn't drink in favor of hailing their cabs at the end of the night. "Keane? What are you doing up here?"

"I could see your legs hanging from down the block," Keane explained, hesitating before dropping down beside her perch on the balcony.

"_Shit_," Charlotte murmured, tucking her legs in and putting out her smoke. She shrugged one shoulder before surfacing with a package of Dunhills. She waved her little engraved lighter at Keane and pressed a cigarette into the palm of his hand.

"I don't…I don't really smoke," Keane said, as if it were an apology. Charlotte smiled, just slightly, amused by his mumbling as she slid the stick back into its place with all of the rest. "I would if I did – smoke, I mean. But you're welcome to – "

"It's really okay," Charlotte stated. "You're probably going to outlive the rest of us."

Keane nodded, smiled as they watched Trent Milford reenact some "funny" tale that took place during his summer in Cabo. But the girls around him laughed anyway, giggling through their noses as ladies were meant to. Charlotte feigned sticking her finger down her throat, then grabbed a stray pebble, launching it at Trent with perfect aim.

She and Keane shared a grin before he saw her pull back, frown at her own laughter. The skin around her eyes smoothed out, her lips twitched before setting themselves straight. Keane cleared his throat, realizing that he still had a pathetic, wide-mouthed grin on his face. He watched her stare out at the city, holding close to the intricate barred gate in front of her. "You alright? You seem kind of down."

Charlotte shook her head, ready to wave him off like the rest of them. They had never been close. He was Henry's accessory, if she wanted to be mean about it. You couldn't lose someone who wasn't a friend in the first place, right?

But when she looked at Keane again, she took in his new floppy haircut, the way a few strands fell into his eyes in the purposeful way that movie stars did. He had a crooked grin, naïve and willing, a fit body under his uniform. Charlotte tilted her head, thinking.

"No," she said as she smiled at him again. "You're actually just the guy I wanted to see."

:::

_There ain't no rest for the wicked. Money don't grow on trees._

_I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed, ain't nothing in this world for free._

_No I can't slow down, I can't hold back, though you know I wish I could._

_No, there ain't no rest for the wicked until we close our eyes for good. _

The ending of the first day of school was always bittersweet on the Upper East Side. They had a whole year ahead of them, the looming threat of expectations, final grades, and college row – which was what they called the waiting period between their first interviews and their final letters. But as Constance girls flirted with St. Jude's boys en route to Pinkberry dates, the crisp fall air brought in a rush of excitement. They were older now, no longer inexperienced freshmen wasting their freedom away. They were broken into their drinking habits, they knew how to kiss, how to duck into clubs with a flash of a smile or Daddy's last name.

Everything was changing, for better or for worse.

**Spotted: A **sending her town car home, then opting to walk the fifteen blocks instead. How very…pedestrian. **J, H, **and the other lacrosse boys wrapping up their first practice of the year – mostly stoned, of course. **C **and **K**, an unlikely duo catching up after class. Anyone else want to join their pity party? **E **flirting with a Chapin boy down by First Avenue's row of dirty pizza parlors.

:::

"So…" Keane trailed off, watching as Charlotte shook out her chopped locks, struggling to tie them away from her cheeks, which were rosy from the cold. Through it all, she balanced another cigarette between her lips, allowing a whisper of smoke to seep out from the corners of her mouth.

Keane was captivated.

"Were you going to say something?" Charlotte asked, waving her fingers in front of him. Keane immediately snapped to attention.

"Sorry, yeah," Keane replied, trying to shake it off. He was still reeling over Charlotte's sudden interest in hanging out with him. Before today, they'd probably spoken a total of ten sentences to each other. They were friends of friends, but never the real thing. And now here she was again, seeking him out in front of St. Jude's afterschool. Keane caught his reflection in a car window as they passed one by, subtly checking himself out. Maybe it was his new haircut. Or the muscles….or rather, _one muscle_ he'd gained over the summer.

"Are you modeling now?" Charlotte smirked, and Keane flushed, messing his hair up again.

"There's a party tonight," Keane finally explained. "I mean, you probably already know that, since Henry's throwing it, but – "

Charlotte cleared her throat. "I didn't know that."

"What's…up with you and Henry?" Keane asked cautiously. They'd spent the lunch period earlier making fun of the kids in the courtyard, dropping pebbles from the balcony and cracking up as they hit their heads. But she hadn't mentioned Henry once.

"Hey," a voice called from behind them.

_Speak of the devil, and he doth appear._

Henry was heading in their direction, eyes darting back and forth between Keane and Charlotte. He stopped in front of them and frowned. Jack Frohlinger trailed behind him, a grimace on his face – per usual. Jack was the kind of attractive that made people just slightly uncomfortable. _He's almost too handsome, _a girl had once whispered. Keane stifled a groan. Jack was another childhood friend, the third member to their forced trio.

But something had always been off about Jack. His jokes were empty of any humor, and his eyes were always cold. Angry. _Waiting._

Beside Keane, Charlotte stiffened.

"I've got to go," she suddenly said to him, to all of them, brushing Keane's arm as she backed away. "I'll see you later." Her eyes flickered to Henry for a moment. "I hear there's a party tonight." Keane opened his mouth to respond, but Henry beat him to it.

"You're welcome to come," Henry said evenly. "As long as it doesn't get broken up."

Charlotte blinked. She had to give him some credit for his wit, despite the situation. Finally, she was the one to take a retreating step back, the heel of her shoe sounding against the cement. She caught Jack staring at her again and nearly tripped.

"I really have to go," Charlotte repeated, her voice trembling just slightly.

Keane watched as she avoided Jack's stare. And when she turned her back to all of them, Jack frowned. _What the hell?_

"What were you two up to?" Henry asked, turning to Keane. This time Keane caught both of their reflections in the car window. Keane's shaggy brown cut flattened in comparison to Henry's jet-black locks, trimmed perfectly to his ears. And Keane's eyes? Shit brown. Nothing like the twist of greens and grays in Henry's. Keane hunched his shoulders, shaking his head, then realized that they were both waiting for him to respond.

"I…we, um," Keane stammered, shoving his hands into his coat. "We were just talking about the…calculus." _Lame. Of all of the things he could've said, Keane had chosen the most transparent cover-up of them all._

"Right," Jack quipped, rolling his eyes. Henry frowned again, glaring at Keane. Though Jack was odd and quiet, they looked more like a pair of bros than Keane and Henry would ever be. Jack had a blonder version of Henry's cropped cut, their jaws were sharp, more mature than Keane's ruddy cheeks. They both wore scarves over their dark fall coats. Apparently, Henry's was some sort of family heirloom, and Jack's was plain gray. Keane glanced down. The mauve Armani jacket that had seemed so trendy in stores now made him feel like a pre-school student among aristocrats.

"Are we, um, are we taking the bus?" Keane asked, anxious to be anywhere but there. But Henry was already shaking his head and backing away.

"No," Henry said, narrowing his eyes. "I'm going to catch a ride with Jack." As if his limo couldn't fit three. But it didn't matter because, as usual, they didn't pause for Keane to protest or throw in his two cents. They just headed off to the line of black cars parked around the corner.

And with that, Keane was left alone. He heard an engine wheeze past him. He snapped his head up, cursing. _And he had missed the bus._

**Oh no. Looks like there's a new lonely boy on the Upper East Side. Haven't you ever heard that it's bros over hoes? Let's hope that K remembers his place before he's kicked to the curb.**

:::

"I still can't believe that you left me for a bunch of Upper East Snobs," Ali Abel groaned, her high-pitched voice sounding more distant than ever. Avery closed her eyes, held her phone between her ear and the curve of her shoulder. She paced around her balcony, trailing a fingertip over the stone wall wrapped around it. It was a trick that she had learned back on the West Coast, when she and Ali were split between homes, when they spent nights crying into pre-paid phones with ratty clothes and empty stomachs.

"Just close your eyes," Avery would whisper, ignoring her asshole foster brother as he spewed shouts at her counselor in the other room. Ali, a year younger than her, would sob about bruises, stolen money, and vicious fights after terrible test scores. They'd met when they were ten, crossed paths at one of the more darling houses owned by an older woman with cats printed on her wallpaper. "Close your eyes, and imagine that you're with me. We'll hit eighteen and take off. Right, Ali?"

A sniffle, a breathy sigh. "Right."

"Somewhere glamorous," Avery had once promised. "Where the women wear gowns, and the boys wear bowties, and everything is flawless."

Now, Avery looked over at the glistening rooftops, at the cradle of roses set on her windowsill, at the streets glistening an off blue as bright as miles and miles worth of pool water. She no longer needed to close her eyes, no longer needed to be swept away and across to fantasies that were always just out of reach. Avery glanced back at her room, clean and white, filled with pretty things and expensive coats. _She was already there_.

"It's not like that," Avery sighed. "I'm as alone here as I was everywhere else they sent me. And this…" She paused in slight disbelief. "This is permanent."

"Boo-hoo," Ali murmured, but the voice chuckled in slight jest, and Avery couldn't help but smile at the ground. "I'll bet the boys are hot."

"Get your mind out of the _gutter_, kid," Avery laughed. "Besides, I go to an all-girl's school. So, unless you're referring to Mister Hadley, the bald English professor with permanent sweat stains under his pits…"

"Okay, one, that's totally gross. Where's the class? Where are the hot private school teachers?" Ali sounded hysterical, and Avery laughed again. She caught her reflection in the glass balcony doors, and almost didn't recognize herself. It felt good to laugh, felt good to be so light and worriless. She smiled again, poised to respond to her friend, but Ali beat her to it. "And two, you said that the maternal unit had friends with hot sons. No?"

"Did you _seriously _just call Serena 'the maternal unit'?" Avery rolled her eyes. The blonde, ageless bombshell was nowhere near the other Stepford wives on their block. She was beautiful, a startling contrast to Avery's more wild red hair and flat figure. And the man, her husband, was the polar opposite. In truth, she related to Dan more. He was quirky and, apparently, he'd come from nothing, too.

But when Avery had asked him what "nothing" meant, Dan had told her that Brooklyn was their version of slumming it. Avery had barked out a bitter laugh, thought back to herself crouched on her knees, scars on her skin in dirty bathrooms, and then she'd silenced herself. These people were nice enough, they were lost with a child like her, and she wouldn't ruin their lives by hauling in her baggage. She'd smile through it, enjoy the perks. But the minute she hit eighteen, she'd be gone. And she'd find a way to take Ali with her.

"It doesn't matter. Even if he _was _my type, Henry is already taken by a Park Avenue princess. I saw them at brunch, and they were both so quaffed and perfect that it made me sick…"

"Oh, so Prince _Henry _has a name now? He seems pretty important to me," Ali swooned. Avery could tell that her friend was imagining some model-esque suited boy. Well, Avery thought, remembering Henry's handsome features, his slightly classic style – Ali wasn't that far off. "And did you just call it _brunch_? Nice vocab, Ave."

Avery was just about to snark back when she heard a light knock on her open door. Serena was giving her that sheepish, hesitant grin, pearl white teeth popping by her deep tan. Avery lifted her hand in a small wave, then turned back to whisper, "I have to go Ali. I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Say hi to Henry for me, yeah?" Ali said. But her voice was sadder now, quieter. "And find me a billionaire along the way."

When they hung up, Avery headed back into her room, shutting the balcony doors behind her. She lifted her phone, smiled at Serena, who was now sitting at the foot of Avery's bed. "I hope it's okay…I just wanted to check in with an old friend."

"Avery, it's your cell phone," Serena laughed. "You can call whomever you want. Unless…you start sexting." Serena frowned, the space between her brows crinkling in despair. "You shouldn't do that."

Avery's eyes widened. "I wasn't planning to…sext." She let out a broken laugh. "Not that there would be anyone that I'd want to – " Avery cut off, stopping herself. "Anyway, did you want to talk to me about something, or…?"

"I did," Serena said, brightening. "I do." She placed a hand over Avery's, The girl visibly tensed, but remained still, left her bitten nails and ink-stained fingertips underneath Serena's moisturized palm. "Am I doing something wrong? I know that I'm never going to be…" The blonde trailed off. "I don't know how to do this. They're all saying that I'm in over my head. I'm not exactly mom-material, as I've proven time and time again."

Avery bit down on her lip. This was different. She'd always been an inconvenience, a part-time stand-in. As always, Avery had stuck to her reading list and sketchbooks upon her arrival, keeping as far away as she could. But now, there was a woman pleading for Avery to be her daughter, a man in the other room, joining their chef to cook up some waffles as he read from Hemingway with his free hand. In some ritzy, crazy, unbelievable way, this was her home.

"I'm sorry," Serena went on. "If I – "

"Serendipity," Avery suddenly cut in. Serena glanced up, confused, thrown off for a moment. Avery slipped her hand away, but offered another smile. "I've always heard about Serendipity, the restaurant. I saw it in a movie."

"Do you want to go?" Serena visibly lifted, clapping her hands together for a moment. "That's great. We can hit the area, drag your dad – " Serena coughed, corrected herself. "We can drag Dan around and listen to him grumble about paying astronomical prices for ice cream."

Avery smiled. "That sounds great." She paused, considered reaching further, trying harder. "Henry Bass and I spoke today. He mentioned this party – "

"A party?"

"But I could stay in," Avery quickly added. "I mean, waffles for dinner? Who would want to miss that?"

"No, no," Serena rushed, pushing up from the bed, clutching Avery's hand to drag her along. "A party is great. This is…_great_." Avery was immediately drowning in a sea of fabric, pulled under and into a world of snooty designer names. Serena held up Avery's hair, twisting it into a loose chignon, then surfaced with a slinky, ivory dress. "I'm thinking…Balenciaga?"

Avery shrugged a shoulder, pinched the silk between her fingers.

_No. She wouldn't have to close her eyes for this at all._

:::

_Primadonna girl, yeah. All I ever wanted was the world_

_I can't help that I need it all. The primadonna life, the rise and fall._

_You say that I'm kinda difficult, but it's always someone else's fault._

_Got you wrapped around my finger, babe._

_You can count on me to misbehave_

Charlotte tugged at her black Balenciaga shift dress, counted to ten, then counted backwards. The gown was strapless and tight at the bodice, then swept down until it grazed the tops of her thighs. Her new short 'do was curled up to her chin, tickling the skin there, framing her face perfectly. She looked nothing like the prim party princess who'd spent hours finding the perfect shade of pink and ironing her hair until it was stick straight last year.

Charlotte frowned, backing away from the bathroom mirror, fingers curling around the porcelain.

She was in The Empire, a regal building that seemed to stand above all else in Manhattan, exclusively booked under Henry's name whenever he pleased. It was his father's hotel, Henry's legacy, halls that Charlotte practically had memorized, parties that she and Henry had always thrown together. She had once imagined them older, living there through college. They had always been a team, but _this _party belonged to Henry. It was an all-black affair, thrown to end summer with a bang.

Charlotte grimaced. She didn't need a party to do that.

She left the bathroom, dove into the sea of tipsy girls, mostly pervy guys, and awkward dancers. Charlotte desperately looked around for a server. She needed a drink _now_. Instead, she got a tap on the shoulder.

"Hey, Char."

Charlotte looked up at Keane in surprise. The kid cleaned up well. He'd slicked back his floppy hair, pulled on a well-tailored black suit. He grinned at her like a puppy. "Keane," she greeted smoothly. She was toying with him, dragging him around because he was a piece of Henry and she wasn't allowed to have the entire thing. It was terrible, and she was awful now. But there was something addictive in watching her life go up in flames. She was already sinking in heat, and the fire could only burn higher.

Charlotte closed her eyes, repeated the words in her head. _Destroy everything before it destroys you first._

"Are you…okay?" Keane asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"Of course. I – " Charlotte started, but something caught her eye over Keane's shoulder. She pushed past him, watched as a girl waltzed in. All eyes were on her, and the whispers came in a rush, fell upon the room even quicker than the club music thumping in the background. The girl had beautiful red hair swept up into an elaborate up-do, green eyes that seemed to be trained on everyone there, all at once. And her dress…it was strapless, tight at the bodice and…

It was Charlotte's dress. The Balenciaga dress in a classic, clean white.

"It's that girl," Charlotte whispered in a breath so low that only Keane could hear her. "It's that Humphrey girl. It's the girl from the Gossip Girl blast." Charlotte's skin burned an angry red at the nape of her neck Keane nervously glanced between the two girls, murmuring incoherent words. Charlotte clenched her fists, unclenched them again, trying to exhale. _Breathe, Charlotte. You don't care anymore. Not about her. Not about him._

_Not about anything._

"Ma'am, would you like a drink?" a server beckoned her, holding out a tray of Bloody Marys. Charlotte took one, lifting it to her lips, grateful that she'd chosen tonight to paint her lips in Sin Scarlet.

And then she saw Henry. He looked…_perfect_ in his black suit. The crowd flocked to him, gravity thrusting him at the center of it all, and for the first time, she was on the outside, merely circling his orbit. And Henry was making his way through the crowd, eyes trained on that girl. He snuck up behind her, putting a hand on her lower back to greet her.

Charlotte gripped the glass tighter.

_You don't care. You don't care. You don't care._

"But I do," Charlotte whispered to herself. She looked down at her glass, no longer aching for the red drink. Charlotte paused. _Red drink_.

"Charlotte? You alright?" Keane asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Charlotte nodded, looking from her drink to the mystery girl's stark white dress. She smiled. That was the thing about trusting your sadness, knowing your way around the dark. The numbness crept closer, as chillingly familiar as a best friend, and it convinced you not to feel a thing for yourself – it convinced you not to feel for anybody else.

"Yeah," Charlotte said. "I'm great."

**And just when I thought C had lost her edge. That's what I love about the Upper East Side. All it takes is one party to bring out the devil in a dark angel. Things are about to get interesting.**

**_Finally_****.**

:::

Ella scanned the crowd, playing with a loose strand of hair. Her dress felt too tight and her hair was frizzing under the hot flare of studio lights. "This party is shitty," she whined to her brother, swigging her drink around in her cup. Next to her, Jack stared off into space. He pursed his lips and cracked his knuckles.

"Um, hello?" she said. "Wake up, emo boy." Jack snapped out of his haze, rolling his eyes at her. Ella frowned, unsure if his lips were capable of smiling anymore.

"Sorry. You were saying?" he drawled, glancing at her, then swallowing down his own drink. When they were young, Jack had been with her when they'd first gotten drunk. Their mom had always been passed out then, and they would head up to the roof and count lights as they shut off across the faces of buildings until New York fell to a quiet so comfortable that it lulled them to sleep.

"Jesus, Jack. What's up with you?" she asked, shoving his shoulder. "Where's the sarcasm…the pranks…the corny nicknames?" Ella paused, left her hand on his forearm and gave him a gentle shake. "Where is my _brother_?"

"Don't start with this again."

"Then explain yourself," Ella insisted. She frowned down at her dress, smoothing the wrinkles that her Spanx formed under the fabric.

"There's nothing to explain," Jack replied, shrugging his shoulders. "You don't have to know everything, alright? I'm allowed to have secrets."

"_Fine_," Ella hissed. "Fine. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find someone who isn't draining the fun out of the room." She sauntered off, leaving Jack alone on the lounge seat. He loosened his collar, barely registering his sister's departure. He wanted to care. He did. But there was something he couldn't get out of his mind. _The night of the party, that summer._ Charlotte.

He watched her stand over by Keane Archibald across the room, like he was her new plaything. What the fuck was wrong with her? She'd come back as some grunge goddess, destroying everything in her path. She was trying to make a mess of her life to distract the rest of them from the truth. But Jack wasn't fooled. He remembered her face, the cuts fresh on her skin, the night air sticking to their skin and dragging them down, just like it was yesterday.

Jack watched as Charlotte made her way through the crowd with a faux smile pasted on her face. She had her eyes trained directly on some girl in a stark white dress. Jack watched the crowd part for Charlotte, watched her stop right behind the girl.

And then a scream rang across the room. _Shit._

:::

"What the _hell_?" Avery pulled at the soaked, stained material of her dress in horror. She'd never worn anything this expensive in her entire life. And now, after a mere half hour, the Balenciaga – whatever _that _meant – was ruined. She'd had a good thing. And now, it was ruined. The red liquid poured down her back, stuck to her skin, dripped into her underwear. Charlotte Camden blinked back at her, clearly the culprit, but was neither menacing nor angry. She looked…empty.

All around her, couples were surfacing for air, limbs untangling to catch sight of the latest scandal. The first flash was followed by ten more. But Avery remembered giving up this fight years ago, sitting opposite of her social worker. _This is your life, Avery. You want to stop drifting? Lose the fight, stay out of trouble._

"Thank you," Avery finally gasped like a fish out of water. She pried her gaze from Charlotte's, turned to Henry when she said, "Thank you for inviting me. I'm going to go." Avery nodded to herself, shoved the dress away from her skin again. "I should go." Before Henry could so much as reach for her, the redhead was already darting through the parted crowd, a Cinderella bleeding heartbreak.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Charlotte?"

Charlotte parted her lips to answer, stumbled back over her own feet. She didn't know what she was doing there, didn't know what she was doing at all. She couldn't handle the way Henry was looking at her. The last time she'd felt eyes on her like this, she'd been onstage, eyes closed, hands contorting and legs lifting so quickly that might have been able to fly.

"I'm sorry." Charlotte backed away.

"You're sorry," Henry repeated. He was decent enough to step closer, lower his voice. The crowd was quickly losing interest, resuming their debauchery, pushing them together. He was so close now, she thought he might touch her, she thought she might let him. But instead, he was honest and angry. "If you were going to do this, why did you come back?"

Her air supply cut short, her skin trembled. Charlotte pulled back to look at him and shook her head just slightly. "I don't know." And then she was running from him too, shoving past the crowd as gracefully as he'd ever seen her. She reached the edge of the ballroom, felt a hand on her shoulder, an attempt at reassurance.

"Charlotte, are you okay?" Keane asked her. And it was like she couldn't stop fucking everything up. Because in the same instant, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, a kiss too desperate and ugly to be pleasurable. Keane's eyes were wide, and Charlotte's were clenched shut. When he drew back, Charlotte pressed a hand to her lips, looked at him, then staggered back. But Keane was utterly oblivious, and he caught her, reached up to caress her cheeks. "Charlotte, you don't know how long I've been waiting for – "

"No," Charlotte breathed.

Keane paused, dropped his hands to her arms. "No?"

"I'm sorry that I did this to you, that I led you on – "

"You know," Keane said, incredulous. "I had almost forgotten how similar you and Henry were."

"Keane – "

"No," Keane said, echoing her words, pulling away from her completely. "Just...no. For once, I don't want to listen." Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, her breath wavering as she watched him go. And then she was alone in that little back alley, entirely on her own.

But somehow, she hadn't found solace in it at all.

:::

Henry shoved a hand in his pocket, dialing his car service with the other. He'd found Avery trying to hail a cab outside, which was nearly impossible on this street, at this hour. And now she was standing beside him silently, eyes trained on the ground, his suit jacket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked nice in it, Henry thought to himself. He caught himself staring at the loose pieces of red hair curled around her cheeks, then cursed under his breath. Henry reached over, into the pocket of his jacket. Avery flinched, thinking that he would touch her, but he only pulled a pack out and offered her a cigarette.

"I don't anymore," Avery said. "But thanks."

"Look," Henry murmured. "I don't want you to hate me after this. I don't want you to think – "

"That you invited me here to make your girlfriend jealous?" Avery finished. "That's pretty shitty, Henry."

He glanced at her, losing the flame on his lighter for a moment. "Yeah. Yeah…it is."

"You love her?"

"More than anything," Henry realized out loud. When his cigarette finally went aflame, he didn't smoke it. Instead, they just stood in silence for a moment, watched the embers light and fade, catch air then die just as quickly. He was about to continue when one of the side entrances burst open, and a thin girl with long black hair, startling eyes that matched Henry's, called out his name. Henry's expression soured, and he turned to the girl. "Need something?"

"A refill?" The girl called back, raising her empty martini glass. "Jesus, Henry. I needed some air. Why don't you relax?"

"Because I have a little sister who exists to torment me?"

"Cheers," the girl called again, raising her glass in a faux salute. Once the door slammed shut behind her, Henry sighed, passing a hand over his face.

"You have a sister," Avery stated, just to ease the tension.

"Audrey," Henry said with a slight nod. "She's…my dad, in girl form. They say that she's her father's daughter – that I got an even mix of the two."

"You didn't turn out so bad," Avery offered.

Henry's lips lifted, a half grin that Avery had never actually seen a boy do. She was grateful for the night's chill, grateful that it disguised the flush on her face. And then Henry murmured, "There's something wrong with Charlotte. She doesn't usually – "

"Freak the fuck out and ruin thousand dollar dresses on impulse?" Avery finished, shifting his jacket off when a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. "Yeah, I figured. She seemed nice before summer – nice to you, at least. If there's something wrong, you shouldn't give up on her. Trust me, there's nothing worse than choosing the fall without having anyone there to catch you."

:::

Charlotte barely felt the cold air as she flicked her lighter on and off. A year ago today, she'd been throwing a benefit down at the Tribeca, a thematic sort of gala named, "The Spies Who Love Me." It was dangerous, daring, a risky theme when raising money for a charity. But she'd been on Henry's arm, who'd been dressed as an early 007, while she was his Bond girl, clad in a thin, silver mini-dress.

A year ago today, she'd been happy.

"Charlotte." The voice was immediately familiar. It wasn't as if she spoke to Jack Frohlinger often, but she'd memorized his voice so clearly, so exactly, that she'd spent nights in Tuscany lying awake in the dark, imagining that he was there again. _Charlotte, are you hurt? You're going to be okay. You're okay now._

Charlotte turned to look at him, and for a moment, she wondered what he saw. She wondered what Jack thought when he looked into her eyes, if that night plagued him as often, as horribly as it did her.

"Where are you going to run off to now?" Jack asked.

"What are you doing here?" Charlotte asked, reaching down to pick up her lighter. She hadn't even realized she'd dropped it, hadn't even realized that she was visibly shaking now.

"What do you _think _I'm doing here?" he asked, leaning against the wall behind him. "You've been avoiding me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Charlotte stepped back. The walls were closing in now, and the party seemed farther away than ever. Jack was handsome, Charlotte had always thought that, but the lights were cutting grim shadows across his face, sharpening angles, frightening her.

"Stop running away from me," Jack said. "Stop doing this to yourself." He gestured back to the ballroom. He kept his voice even, his face expressionless. "_Look _at yourself. You're being such a fucking cliché."

Charlotte paused. "I said, I don't know what you're talking about," She got up to turn away from him, started to walk down the alley in the opposite direction until he spoke again.

"I know what happened to you, Charlotte."

She shook her head, felt her chest ache. "Stop it."

"I know you didn't want me to see, didn't want me to be the one to…but I _did_. I can't forget, and neither can you."

"No," Charlotte whispered, refusing to turn around. She heard his voice closer, heard footsteps behind her.

"I can _help _you. I can do something," Jack insisted, tugging her arm. His hand on her skin that way brought her back to when his arms had cradled her, carried her back through those abandoned woods, cleaned her cuts and combed her hair back. But Charlotte fought the memories with all that she had, turned around, squeezed her eyes shut.

"Please don't – "

"You were raped at that party, Charlotte. You _need _help."

_No I can't slow down, I can't hold back, though you know I wish I could._

_No, there ain't no rest for the wicked until we close our eyes for good._

* * *

**A/N: **It's very late at night, so this AN won't be long at all. But I hope that you guys enjoyed this! Reviews are the macaroons to my inner Blair Waldorf, so I'd love to hear what you all think. xo, N


	2. Center of Attention

**2. Center of Attention**

**Good morning, kids. As you're all recovering from a very eventful first week of school, I'm busy preparing for the rest of the year. Tension is rising, secrets are spilling, and I'll be there to report it all when the truth comes out.**

**Spotted: E **returning her dress from **C'**s party. Looks like she downed one two many of those appetizers last week. _If the dress doesn't fit, don't buy it. _**C **and **J **were spotted having Sunday brunch together. Three boys in one week, **C**? Guess she lost her taste along with losing her mind. **H **was seen taking his frustration out during lacrosse practice, while **A **was off reading Keats down by **East River**. How…boring.

Oh, yes. Speaking of, I almost forgot poor little **K**. He was spotted alone at home, alone at Central Park, and alone _again _at the **Uptown Deli**. Guess that's what happens when you try to steal your best friend's girl. Next time, make sure that she wants you back before you leap**, K**.

:::

This was the last place Charlotte expected to be on a rainy, Sunday afternoon.

Charlotte was sitting in Jackson Hole, the infamous diner where they all used to flock to whenever they had the munchies. But now, it was just Jack staring back at her, jaw tensed, eyes casting a chill wherever he looked. And Charlotte felt it, felt an anger that he thought she couldn't understand. They were different, yes. His rage burned slow, while hers was too hot to touch. But that intolerable flood of emotion, the one that lurked behind smooth expressions and utter silence – Charlotte knew that better than anyone.

"You obviously don't want to be here," Charlotte said when the silence became too much to bear. Perhaps Jack could amuse himself by playing a mute, but the bubbly little socialite had still not _completely_ been crushed within Charlotte.

Jack said nothing, just watched her as the waitress placed two burgers on either side of the table, glancing curiously at the odd pair: a boy as beautiful as stone, a girl as tragically captivating as a hurricane during a drought. Jack wore a white V-neck, dark jeans tailored to his physique. His face was clear, all angles and marvelous cheekbones, marred only by thick circles under his eyes – bruised and tired, just as Charlotte's were. Charlotte sighed now as she looked at him, picked a fry from her plate. And she could have _sworn _that he uttered a sigh in return, just to spite her.

"We used to talk when we were kids," Charlotte remarked. "Last night was the first time you've said more than a sentence to me since..."

He stared.

"Why are you here, then?" Charlotte snapped. "What's the point?"

"You invited me." Jack's voice was deep when he stated the words, apathy plain in his words, as if the statement were obvious. He bit into his burger, and she followed, giving a content little sigh when the taste filled her mouth. Jack regarded her, not quite amused, but interested now, eyes trained on her lips.

Charlotte frowned, an angry blush colored her cheeks. "_What_?"

Jack rolled his eyes, glanced to the side. "There's barbecue sauce all over your chin."

"Oh," Charlotte murmured, grabbing a napkin to wipe at the stain. Her hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, unstraightened curls falling in her face as she did so. "Look, I wanted to talk to you about what you said last night." Jack settled back, waiting for her to continue. "You're mistaken. You were probably drunk or…whatever. But, that's not what happened, okay? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jack paused for a moment. "I don't drink."

Charlotte frowned, felt heat tickle the back of her neck. "We all drink." But he was right. Jack never drank, just sat back at the few parties he did attend, just watched the rest of the crowd filter in and out of various states of intoxication. He'd been sober that night – he was the only person who could remember just as clearly as she did, and that knowledge was clear on his face. Charlotte inhaled, stared down at the space between them. "Stop…looking at me like that."

But the flash struck anyway.

_"I'm going to pick you up now," Jack stated, neither questioning nor gentle as he hoisted Charlotte's half-conscious body into his arms, the dirt on her dress staining his shirt. Her stockings were ripped, blood coated fresh cuts on her bare skin. She mumbled incoherent words, and her head lolled against his chest. Jack huffed, lifted her higher. "You have to stay awake, okay? Keep your eyes open." He'd said the same script so many times, the burden of playing a caretaker already thrust upon him back when he was only ten years old._

_"It hurts," Charlotte gasped, fingers curling into his shirt, digging into his skin._

_"Yeah," Jack said, forcing himself to keep his voice toneless. "Tell me who that guy was."_

_"I don't know," Charlotte groaned, speaking against his chest. "I don't know anything…"_

_Jack stared down at her bright blue eyes, still blinding in the night. He sighed, walked faster through the maze of trees behind the cabin, eyes set on an array of logs near the back. She was going to be sick, was probably going to puke all over him if he didn't sit her down soon. And he'd already had his fair share of those moments in his lifetime. So he sat her down on a stack of wood, the grass vibrating beneath their feet from the quick thrum of party music inside._

_"You should probably throw up."_

_Charlotte hunched forward, dropped her head into her hands. "No…"_

_"Yeah, well," Jack said. "It's not going to be enjoyable for me to let you die here, so you need to throw up." When she said nothing, just kept mumbling at the ground, Jack got an angry twitch in his neck, the most frustrated he'd felt in a long time. "Do you want me to call Henry?"_

_"No, no…" Charlotte protested under a slur. "Henry's not here."_

_"I'm sure he'd come get you," Jack said. And for a quick, fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to be tied to the other end of a person's string, to leap when they called, to find purchase if he ever were to fall. But he didn't have room for that, would never be able to drop everything that way. He shook Charlotte when she reverted to silence. "Charlotte, do you need me to call Henry?"_

_Her face was wet with tear-soaked dirt. "Call my dad."_

_And then Jack felt it, the emotion caught in his throat, the years he'd spent dying to say the same thing. He let out a ragged breath, one hand pressing against the side of her head. But he did not whisper soothing words, did not stroke through the tangled strands of brown. Because those who needed comfort knew not how to comfort anyone._

_"Charlotte," Jack said. "I can't call your dad. You know that he's…He's dead."_

"Nothing happened," Charlotte suddenly said, brisk words cutting into the intensity. "Okay? Like I said. We all drink. We were all drunk." She forced herself to smile as she said this, prepared herself to fight off his arguments. But he didn't disagree – he didn't grab her arm or scold her as he'd tried to the night before. Jack just stared at her for a long minute.

And then he got up to leave.

"Wait," Charlotte called out in her surprise. Some of the other diners turned to look at them and Charlotte lowered her voice. "Where are you going?"

"Don't you think I have better things to do with my Sunday?" Jack asked, leaning against the table. "If nothing happened…fine. That's better for me, anyway. I don't want to get involved in other people's problems anyway."

"You don't have to be that way," Charlotte said. "I just wanted to talk – "

"No. You wanted someone who would chase after you, even though you're treating everyone like shit. That's why you have a boyfriend." Jack's voice was even as he considered this. He sighed, slid his phone from his pocket to show her its screen. "_Had _a boyfriend." Charlotte blinked, horrified as a picture of her and Keane loaded onto the screen. She looked drunk, the kiss was sloppy, and it was posted all over Gossip Girl.

**Nobody likes a girl who can't handle her liquor, C. I wonder what your boyfriend will think when he sees this candid. Or should I call him your ex…?**

Charlotte steadied her breath, shoved the phone back into Jack's hands. "So what?"

"So, it's dumb. You're being dumb. Here you are, downing more booze than the average Wall Street burn-out, you're wearing more make-up than you even need to wear." Jack shook his head. "If you wanted to keep this a secret, you would've come back normal. You wouldn't have said anything." He edged away, stared her down. "But that's not what you want. You want _everyone _to know. You think that'll save you."

"So, what?" Charlotte said, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "You're not even going to be my friend?"

Jack shrugged one shoulder, tossed a one-hundred dollar bill on the tabletop to cover the bill. "Why, Charlotte? You were never mine."

:::

_"Oh yes, Mr. Bass. I've been a very good girl."_

"No," Henry murmured, only half conscious as the first lines of his parents' little script began. He shut his eyes, black hair sticking to his forehead as he shifted in bed, digging his face into the pillow beside him. Henry willed sleep to come again, tried desperately to hold on to the dream he'd been having – Charlotte's eyes, her hair brushing his cheek, her fingers tugging at the hair above the nape of his neck – and the thought of it sent a tango of both pleasure and resentment to the pit of his stomach.

_"Oh yeah?" _Henry heard a harsh snap, the pull of fabric against skin, and he gagged. _"Prove it to me."_

"Jesus Christ." Henry was fully awake now, scowling at the irritating symphony of shrieks and moans coming from the kitchen downstairs, where his parents liked to mess around sometimes because neither of them even _actually _knew what the room was for. It was like they were teenagers. At this point, his father was getting more action than he'd seen in three months.

He raked his fingers through his hair and his sheets slid off to reveal black, silk boxers – purple socks on his outstretched feet. Henry reached for the phone on his beside table, and its screen was flooded, per usual. He scrolled through emails and text messages and was disappointed to find nothing from Jack. The two were captains of the lacrosse team, and Henry had been hoping to hit the park before school.

But he was _especially _disappointed to find nothing from Charlotte. In fact, there was nothing of consequence, just a message from Keane that said, "Hey man. I'm really, really, really sorry." Henry rolled his eyes. The kid had probably spilled something on one of Henry's old, gifted scarves. Keane was a year and a half younger than the rest of them, had skipped a grade due to his "remarkable brilliance". But the jump had done nothing for his maturity.

_"Right there, Bass."_

Henry groaned, threw his pillow over his face, let his phone fall to his side. They had no shame. Suddenly, his door clicked open, and his maid burst into the room, the burly woman murmuring something angry in Polish as his parents' voices grew louder then died off again. Dorota laid his uniform out on the duvet as Henry sat up in bed.

"Thanks, Dorota," he murmured.

"Yes, Mister Henry," Dorota said. "Hurry and get dressed. Stop Miss Blair and Mister Chuck." She glanced up, threw her arms up in disdain. "She burn pancakes, then noises start…" This time they both flinched. His mother could do _many _things, but home-cooked meals were not her forte, and they usually ended in elaborate _soothing _sessions from his father after she failed.

"_Great_," Henry sighed.

"Don't worry. I make protein shake for you," Dorota said, tossing him a slight wink.

Henry grinned, dimples appearing in his cheeks. He often forgot that Dorota was their maid – she had, after all, been with the family for so long. It wasn't like he'd go shouting it through the streets or anything, but he kind of loved her. She was like the cool aunt who completely disregarded all of his parents' rules. Until Henry had asked her to dish about his parents' teenaged years. Then, Dorota promptly "forgot how to speak English".

Henry rolled out of bed and showered. After throwing his uniform on and brushing back his hair to its usual quaffed, effortless style, he reluctantly went downstairs. And he made sure to poke his head into their dining room before walking in, a habit he'd grown accustomed to in the past seventeen years.

"_Henry!_" Blair cooed, breaking away from Chuck's arms. They were both wearing work clothes – a tailored suit, a red, pleated dress. His mother's cheeks shone scarlet, and she seemed out of breath. _Gross_. Henry rolled his eyes and strolled in, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

"Morning, Mom," he said, glancing up at her. "You have a little..." Henry's smile held mischief, and he nodded to her face. Blair's eyes widened, and she scrambled for the compact in her purse. Her lips were swollen, and her lipstick was smeared on one side of her mouth. Chuck smirked, kissing Blair's cheek and patting Henry's head.

"Don't tease your mother," Chuck warned, hazel eyes matching Henry's light pair exactly.

"I could say the same to you," Henry chuckled. "You know, I'd love to be able to sleep in the morning, but I can see that's not going to happen." He could hear Chuck's booming laughter from the other room, and Blair narrowed her eyes.

"_Anyway_," she interrupted, cheeks tinting again. "Eat your breakfast. You need to be ready for your fittings afterschool. As the new face of _Waldorf for Men_, you'll need to look the part." She paused, silently scolded herself. "But…you look so handsome in everything you wear regardless." She let out a crisp little contented sigh.

"Handsome like his father," Chuck cut in, raising an eyebrow at her. When Blair had her back turned, Chuck leaned over to clap Henry on the shoulder and murmur, "I want you to visit me at work when you have the time. I want us to spend more time together, alright?"

"Sweetie," Blair hissed through her teeth, _always_ catching everything that went on in her household. "I thought we discussed this. Henry has _the _face for male fashion."

"And he has the brains of a businessman," Chuck argued. "Look, I'm not trying to take anything from you, Blair."

"I wasn't _implying _– "

"Actually," Henry interrupted, getting up from his seat. "I can't make it to either one. I have plans at school today." He slung his bag over his shoulder and jetted for the door.

"Hold it right there, Bass," Blair called. _Shit. _Henry spun on his heel and Chuck glanced up, both turning their attention to the furious woman across the room. When Chuck realized that she was speaking to Henry, he relaxed, winking at his son as if to say,_ It's every man for himself _– before turning back to his Blair's mind was calculating, veering to another subject already. She scanned the room, eyes focused on the empty seat at their dining table. "Where's your sister?"

"Well," Henry coughed, extended one arm, pulled up the sleeve of his blazer to study the Quartz around his wrist. "It's about that time. Love you."

"Henry – "

Chuck suddenly seemed interested. "It's fine, Blair." He glanced at Henry, cracked his knuckles as he said, "Tell your sister that I know she didn't come home last night. You can also advise her that my P.I.'s name is Vincent, just in case she ever wants to say hi to him when he's trailing her."

Blair fumed, fingers curling into fists. "Audrey didn't – "

"Hey, Mr. Bass," called a voice from the entryway, and Henry could almost _hear _the ticking time bomb within his mother halt. "Henry." The Basses turned to see Keane walk in, lifting his hand in a nervous little wave. He always seemed to be a bit awestruck when he arrived at the Bass's home. They'd lived in a townhouse since Henry was ten and Audrey was nine. And Henry had loved it, loved growing up with his Dad spouting out witty remarks at the society pages as his mother rolled her eyes and introduced them to the classics in his father's study. And he'd _loved _having a room that was two stories down from his parents.

Even Audrey had been a little less…demonic then.

But the penthouse was different. The _Times _had nicknamed it "a palace in the sky", and after that, there was simply no other way to describe it. The building was on the Upper East Side, just two blocks down from the MET, and it cast in incomparable shadow across Central Park when the sun kissed it just right. Their penthouse was two stories high, floors of marble that could pass for an array of clouds when Dorota let the light in. It had two wings, a garden pathway that separated the two sections, a golden fountain sprouting from the cement there.

They used the other wing to entertain.

And sure, Keane had the estate his family had inherited from his great-grandfather. It was regal and proper, and everything such wealth could buy. But this – Keane glanced at the golden finishes swirling in and out of the eggshell walls – this was surreal. And, as always, Henry was unaffected.

"Hi, Keane," Blair greeted, glancing up once as she fixed her husband's bowtie, patted a hand across the lapel of his suit. "Henry, I'm surprised Charlotte hasn't stopped by. Where was she again this summer?"

Henry's smile dropped. "Tuscany."

Chuck groaned, and Blair glowered, murmured under her breath, "At least _someone _made it there in her youth." Blair crossed her arms as Chuck whispered in her ear, slid two fingers to the nape of her neck. The boys could not understand what he was saying to her, but it was effective. Blair weakened, unclasped her folded hands, and Chuck grinned when his wife finally went to follow him out. The last thing they heard when before the couple disappeared into the elevator was, _"Come on. We can take the limo. You can play Waldorf again."_

"I see where you get it from," Keane laughed, rather nervous.

"Yeah well," Henry sighed, stretched his arms out in front of him. "That spiel wasn't so charming when Charlotte was dumping me." He shook his head. "What's up? Did you need a ride?"

Keane glanced down at the ground. "You haven't seen the blast."

"You know that I don't bother with Gossip Girl," Henry smirked. "I don't really care to know what colored dress Ella Frohlinger decided to wear to a benefit I didn't even attend." Henry sighed, pulled out his phone. "But I bet she's going crazy over the Charlotte debacle."

"No," Keane murmured. "I mean, yes. But that's not really it." Sweat dripped down his hairline as Henry carelessly scrolled through Gossip Girl's feed. But Keane could tell – the minute Henry's eyes caught sight of the photographs, his thumb hovered over the screen, his jaw twitched, nerves rolling under his skin. Keane let out a helpless breath as Henry stared at it for a long, excruciating minute. Keane straightened, began, "I want to start by apologizing – "

"I want to start by telling you to get the fuck out of my penthouse," Henry said evenly, finally dropping the phone back in his blazer pocket. "I appreciate you coming here to tell me that you kissed Charlotte. It was a nice gesture." Henry pursed his lips, his wicked eyes meeting Keane's dull ones. He'd never looked more like his father than he did now. "But you should run along. Public transportation is calling."

"We've been friends for – "

"For as long as you've been in love with my girlfriend," Henry finished.

"Ex_-_girlfriend," Keane corrected, almost instantly regretting the words. In the clear, floor-length window behind Henry, Keane caught his own pitiful expression, his brown hair flat against his head, eyes too small for his rounded features.

At Keane's words, Henry fumed, fists burrowing into his sides. "Are you trying to get hit?"

"It wasn't like that," Keane said, running a hand through his hair. "What you think happened…it wasn't…"

"Then what was it like?" Henry asked. "Because last time I checked, you went out with her _two _nights after we broke up." He gestured to his phone. "Or did she trip and fall face-first onto your lips?"

"Okay, but – "

"I don't want to see your face here again. I don't want you hanging around my limo, trying to cop a ride. And I don't want you near Charlotte," Henry spat. He stepped forward, made Keane stumble back a foot. "Maybe now you'll stop trying to be me and get your own life."

And then Henry shoved past him, headed for the elevator, and left Keane to stand only with his own reflection.

**Looks like the girls aren't the only ones getting catty this year. Is this really the end for our least favorite bromance? Only time will tell…**

:::

_You got that medicine I need._

_Fame, liquor, love. Give it to me slowly._

_Put your hands on my waist, do it softly._

_Me and God, we don't get along, so now I sing._

"Say my name," Audrey murmured, closing her eyes against the pressing kisses and nibbles descending along the line of her jaw. Thick fingers threaded in her long black hair, and she frowned, impulsively slapped the boy's hand away and placed it back on her hip. The chilling fall air made her tremble, and the boy she was with got cocky, mistook this as a sign of her pleasure.

"Audrey Bass," the boy murmured against her skin, lips wet against her collarbone. "You are so fucking hot."

This, she knew. She and her brother had both been startlingly attractive when they were born, or so she'd been told. Midnight black hair and light amber eyes were a stunning contrast, and their pale complexions just emphasized that. Though Henry had grown to be charming, warm on the outside, mischievous within, Audrey had gotten her father's straight nose, the cat's curl of her pink lips, high cheekbones and a dainty jut at the point of her chin.

Audrey smirked at the comment now, reached into her purse to check her cell as the he kissed her neck. _Hm_, Audrey thought as she scrolled to a picture of her brother's mousy best friend kissing Charlotte. The girl was starting to dress a lot like, well, _Audrey_ – who preferred to wear leather jackets over her dainty white dresses, kohl liners to accompany her silky headbands. This would shape up to an interesting year indeed.

But her amusement faltered when she felt the boy's tongue sweep all across the base of her neck, leaving a wet trail in its wake. _God_, how was he not drowning in his own saliva?

"You like that, baby?"

Audrey rolled her eyes, sank back against the stone wall behind her. "No," she stated plainly. She was better off, anyway. Class was starting in fifteen minutes, and her mother would slaughter her if she got a tardy again.

"No?" the boy mumbled clearly thinking it was a joke. "Well, let's see if we can spice things up." Audrey sighed, poised her hands to shove the boy away, but there was no need. Her older, dark-haired counterpart was already headed straight for the alley they were nestled in. And Henry looked just as irritated as she did.

"She fell, and you helped her up, right?" Henry sighed, his fingers curling into the fabric of the other boy's blazer. "Because that's the only way I can fathom your proximity to my little sister." Henry pulled the boy back, and his opponent seemed irritated at first, then sobered up when he realized who he was talking to.

"Hey, man…"

Henry held a hand up. "Honestly, I don't have the time, nor do I care today."

"Right…" the boy swallowed, turned to Audrey. "I'll see you later."

Audrey glanced up, realized the boy was talking to her. Her head tilted in sympathy, black hair brushing her elbow, then curling at her lower back. "Oh…" she trailed off, smiled. "Probably not." The boy's answer was unintelligible as he scampered off, adjusting his tie as he turned the corner for St. Jude's. Once they were alone, Henry turned to Audrey, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"So grumpy," Audrey commented, nodding over at a bench across the way. "But then again, you always have enjoyed spoiling my fun."

"_Please._ I could sense the boredom on you from across the block," Henry retorted, following her down the side street. "Who was that?"

Audrey frowned, honestly contemplating his question. "Tom…" She shook her head, pressed her finger to the point of her chin. "Jake…Or Ryan, maybe?" She gave up with a little shrug. "Honestly, I just needed him to give me a ride to school. He served his purpose."

"That's sweet, Audrey. Really," Henry deadpanned. "Your romanticism never ceases to warm my heart."

"I so love being lectured by a boy who smells like," Audrey sniffed the air. "Is that Dad's Morriston Gold?" She shook her head as they sat beside each other on the bench, staring out at the seas of plaid and sleek, black cars arriving down the street. "What? Drinking your girl troubles away? Henry," she gasped in faux shock. "Are you becoming an alcoholic?"

"Not talking about this with you," Henry said. It was then that Audrey realized he had a brown coffee tray in his left hand, and he lifted a cup to hand it off to her. "Here, coffee." Henry smirked. "I got it black, like your soul."

"Funny," Audrey said, grabbing the cup, then reaching to yank a rumpled paper bag from her purse. "And such a coincidence. I come bearing bagels. They're dry – like your jokes." He took one, and they sat together, taking slow slips before they'd have to jet off to their respective buildings. She didn't ask about Charlotte, and he didn't question her pick of the week. That was how it worked between them. Sometimes, you needed to hold on to a person whose silent company was more beautiful than words.

"Mmm," Audrey sighed as she downed the last bit of her coffee and wiped at the corner of her lips with one thumb. "I adore Dorota, but her coffee tastes like shit." She got up and tossed the cup, impatiently waving Henry over to follow. "Mom is going to have your head when she finds out that you deigned to buy discounted caffeine from Pete's."

"Hm," Henry chuckled. "What Mom doesn't know won't kill her."

At this, Audrey paused, her black cape coat slung casually around her shoulders. "Are we talking about the same Blair Bass?" She raised her eyebrows as if he should have known better. "She'll smell it on your breath."

:::

Avery pulled at her uniform's collar, tucked it under her gray knit sweater for a fifth time in Constance and St. Jude's joint auditorium. They were holding some co-ed assembly for the juniors, and Avery couldn't wait for it all to be over. She still had faint memories of Henry's party, the clustering crowds, the intoxicating air from the weekend. It was so easy to belong when she lost herself, Avery realized. But that wasn't exactly a price she willing to pay.

So she opted to sit alone in the very last row, practically picking cobwebs off her skirt.

She caught Henry's eye over the crowd, and he nodded at her for a second, offered a still-apologetic grin before training his eyes on something at the front of the room. Avery followed his gaze, finding a girl with a shaggy cropped bob and thick kohl eyeliner. _Charlotte_. Of course.

Avery cleared her throat, pushed herself further out of sight. Serena had helped her tuck her strawberry curls back into a simple chignon that morning, despite the blonde's insistence that she let her wild hair out. But Avery didn't want to be that girl again – not here. She'd been the new girl eleven times in the last thirteen years, was always the one who wore tight, cheap jeans and tops that rode up her abdomen.

She was always the girl who never made it to curfew and was pushed headfirst back into the system.

But Avery wasn't so sure that she was on the greatest roll here. One week at Constance, and she'd managed to tally up a enemy out for vengeance she didn't understand and a regular spot on Gossip Girl - one that threatened to set her history in stone. Out there, she'd been a ghost. On the Upper East Side, secrets were embedded into the city. _How could these people live this way?_

Avery dropped her head into her hands and groaned. She was so screwed.

"You okay there, new girl?" she heard someone ask. Avery looked up in time to see a blonde girl plop down beside her. The girl had full cheeks, thin eyes, and thick blonde hair that spiraled down to her chest. She was that strange kind of pretty, not the way Henry's girlfriend belonged on the cover of magazines, not the kind of pretty that had made boys want to feel Avery up in the back of beat-down Camaros, skin hot, mind muddled –

"Yeah, I'm fine," Avery said, blinking the thought away. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"Only by reputation, probably," the girl replied, stretching out her free hand. "Ella Frohlnger." The girl twirled a long curl around her fingertip, idly observed Avery with slanted eyes.

"I'm Avery," she replied, shifting further away on the bench. "Avery..."

"Humphrey," Ella finished. "Is that weird? The whole…name-change thing would probably bug me out." The girl curled her knees in on the bench, then quickly shoved the fabric of her skirt over her thighs. "Perhaps I should call you Carrie?"

Avery frowned, glanced at the girl. "Um, what?"

"The red…on your dress…and the Stephen King movie?" Ella started, then paused when her comment was received with a blank stare. "The movie's called _Carrie_, that's all."

"Oh," Avery said half-heartedly. "I've never really had the chance to get into movies."

Luckily, feedback from the microphone up front silenced the room, cut straight into their awkward exchange. Avery shrugged, smiled slightly, and turned to face front in her seat. She felt Ella watch her for a second longer before following. Headmistress Grant stood at the podium and cleared her throat.

_"As always, it's a pleasure to welcome a new crop of bright young minds into our college preparatory program. It's time to start looking to a bright future. Here's to you: the future politicians, businessmen, and societal successors of America."_

Ella practically snorted, startling a row of girls with identical sleek blonde hairdo's seated at the row in front, and she nudged Avery's arm. "Gag me," the blonde murmured.

Avery allowed herself to crack a smile.

_"As per our new tradition, we will be sectioning you off into groups. The peers that you are joined with will be a support system. These will be your friends, your allies, your team, all through the college program. We will start today, with group sessions until third period."_

Avery relaxed in her seat. Missing class wasn't horrible. The whole idea of group bonding sessions and team building was a more mind-numbing torture than trying to play catch-up with eclectic teenagers who'd already been introduced to Faulkner at ten years old.

_"We'll start with A through H. Group One: Keane Archibald, Henry Bass, Charlotte Camden, Ella Frohlinger, Jack Frohlinger, and…"_

Avery's breath caught.

_"Avery Humphrey."_

Ella smirked in her seat, nudged Avery again, almost causing the redhead to snap. But instead she just froze, stared straight forward as Charlotte Camden, swiveled in her seat, eyes narrowed in Avery's general direction. Avery shrank back, flinched when Ella leaned over to whisper in her ear, "This year just got ten times more interesting."

:::

"Well, you all look a like a lively bunch."

The woman standing before their group was tall and lanky, much too old to pull off the silk headband in her black bob of hair. She had to be on Xanax or some other sort of happy pill, for her eyes were wide, her smile strained, and her fingers were eagerly tapping against the room's hardwood desk as her assigned students lazily filed into their seats. "I'm Isabel Coates," she continued, her voice just an octave above a normal volume. "I'll be your college advisor for the next three months. And if you recognize the name, slow down with your cameras. I'm not actually famous, I'm just an alumni here."

Isabel was met with six blank stares, and the chuckle that surfaced from her lips was not one of social ease. And really, even if they'd thought the joke was funny, they were too absorbed in their own drama to give school the time of day.

Just then, Henry dropped his face into one hand, an obvious chuckle bursting from his throat. Across the circle, a giggle escaped from Charlotte's lips, an unintentional slip through her empty façade. She caught his eye, exhaled when his lips turned down, and she set hers into a straight line. It was strange, really, how lips could so easily forget the source of their smiles, how hearts could start beating for something else.

Henry looked away first.

Before they'd even walked into the room, Henry had accidentally brushed arms with Charlotte, jolting the skin there, making her jump back. Then came the first words he'd spoken to her since the day they'd broken up, and they weren't at all what she expected.

"Your necklace," Henry had observed, staring down at the blank canvas around her collar, the missing globe that was usually settled against the hollow of her throat. Charlotte reached for her neck, fingers digging into her own skin on impulse.

_My necklace_, she remembered calling to Jack that night, her hands curling into dirt, digging up weeds, coming up with nothing. _I need my necklace. I can't leave it here. _Charlotte heard the sobs as if the moment had just passed.

But before she could answer Henry, he'd slipped through the doorway, only pausing to murmur, "I guess that it's out with the old this year, huh?"

Now, all other eyes were on Charlotte, whose uniform was barely passing Constance's strict standards that day – a black bustier making its appearance from behind her mandatory Oxford. She was all over Gossip Girl – but not for the usual reason. It was not a fabulous dress at a benefit, nor was it a catty fight with one of the other front runners for a ballet recital that propelled her to momentary internet stardom.

She'd thought it would be easy to burn bridges, to reinvent herself this way, but perhaps Jack had been right. Because the match was in her hands, and it was beginning to singe.

Only Avery was oblivious to this stare down, who was avoiding as much confrontation with Charlotte as possible. She hadn't done well with girls like this in the past, those so desperate to mark their territory. So instead of looking at her, Avery desperately tried to focus on the over-excited woman before her.

"So, let's all introduce ourselves," Isabel said, clapping his hands together.

"Oh…I think we all know each other here," Ella murmured under her breath, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Beside her, Jack's lips wavered and, for a moment, Ella thought he might crack a smile. Instead, his expression return to its unmoved state, and he stretched in his seat, stared down at the blank screen of his phone.

"I second that," Keane suddenly said. Those in the room jumped, startled when they remembered he was even there at all. He leaned over his desk in the far corner of the room, cleared his throat. "I'm not sure how helpful this will be." It was the one thing they could all agree on.

"Okay, guys," Isabel insisted with all the cheekiness of a kindergarten teacher speaking to a room of drooling children. Her words were drawn out, her tone high-pitched. "What's the deal? Juvenile high school drama? We're not going to do this today. Personally, I had enough of that the first time around."

"Which is why you took a job at your old high school," Charlotte stated, rolled her eyes so obviously that the woman had to notice.

"That…is besides the point," Isabel replied. "Let's do this. We'll go around in a circle and get _everything _off our chests. Whatever is making you upset, whatever's pissing you off, just lay it out on the table. Then – " She sounded slightly on edge now, an impatient twinge making her voice sound that much more maniacal. " – we can get on with our lives, and I can do my job." Isabel was met by silence again. Keane yawned, scratched at the back of his head. Henry checked his watch once more. "Okay," she continued, setting her eyes on Keane, who seemed to be the most harmless of the group. "How about you? The kid with the floppy hair."

Keane glanced up, startled. "Um, I don't really know what to say." The rest of the room stared at him expectantly, and he wavered, shoulders hunched over, brown hair truly an unruly mess atop his head. For some reason, he remembered this moment, the horrifying punishment of being held at center stage in a classroom. Only it was five years ago, and they were still in junior high, and Keane was standing in front of the room, hands clasped behind his back, his weight swaying from foot to foot.

He didn't have to open his eyes to know that the other kids were laughing at him. He was supposed to be delivering some presentation on the American Revolution, and he suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't form a single word. Bile rose in his throat, and his tongue went unbelievably dry. _Oh my God_, he heard. _Archibald is going to puke_.

And then it happened. Henry shot up from his seat, joined Keane at the front of the room, didn't even hesitate before dropping his arm over his best friend's shoulders. Though their teacher didn't approve, Henry had eased her with one of those looks – a calming grin, charming eyes. He then turned back to the class and began, "Let me tell you about the American Revolution." And just like that, Henry finished Keane's entire presentation, drawing laughter and applause, speaking animatedly about battle grounds and Red Coats until Keane was left to twiddle his thumbs in Henry's shadow.

He'd been so conflicted then – was still so conflicted now. How could he feel so grateful towards someone who so constantly kept him a step down? And why had Keane grown so comfortable on the bottom rung?

"I fucked over my best friend," Keane suddenly said, the words escaping his mouth in a rush. "And it was all for a girl who fucked me over in return." He paused, glanced at Henry, who was now staring at him with pure curiosity. "Because I was tired."

Isabel's eyes widened. "You know, we really shouldn't curse in the classroom…"

"I didn't _fuck you over_," Charlotte snapped.

"…Okay," Isabel sighed. "There goes that."

"Tired of what?" Henry cut in, ignoring Charlotte's glare. Keane stared down at his desktop, said nothing as Henry questioned him. "Tired of _what_, Keane?"

"Alright, calm down," Isabel said, clapping her hands together. She stood as a physical barrier between the two boys, exhaling as she addressed the room, "Everybody gets their turn. Blondie, you're up next."

Ella raised her eyebrows, saw an opportunity and glanced at Jack. "My brother and I used to be close. And now he barely looks at me." Jack's gaze cut to his sister, and he blinked once before training his eyes back on the floor.

"My girlfriend disappeared for three months," Henry chimed in to their little confessional. "And then she dumped me on the day she came back." He didn't look at Charlotte when he spoke, but it still felt like they were the only two in the room.

"Don't worry," Charlotte said. "He had no problem with moving on." She too stared straight at the wall when he spoke.

"He didn't…move on," Avery said, finally mustering up the will to look Charlotte in the eye. The girl frowned back at her, and Avery saw so many things that the others couldn't. Charlotte was starting over, just like Avery was. And she held the expression of someone tethered to their past, clinging on to memories that could not withstand the future's pull. Charlotte was just as lost as she was, but for a different reason. One just as terrible.

"Oh God," Isabel groaned, massaging her temples. "I don't get paid enough for this. Let's _all _move on. You seem to have a lot to say, Charlotte. Why don't you go ahead?"

Charlotte froze, and her skin prickled as it often did when people were waiting on her. They all stared, even Henry, and she wanted nothing more than to insist that this was all some sick joke, wanted nothing more than to lay the truth bare right now before the year unraveled into something darker than it already was.

But, instead, she found herself looking at Jack. She found him staring back. He gave the slightest of nods, one that only she could see, but Charlotte did not understand – did not _want _to understand.

"No," Charlotte said. "I don't have anything to say."

"Okay…" Isabel trailed off, scanning a roll sheet for names. "Jack Frohlinger? Would you like to share?"

"Sure," Jack said. Ella's head whipped up, stunned as her brother continued. "I finally met someone that I've known all my life." Charlotte's lips parted, and she shifted closer to listen to his deep rasp. "That person…is scared. I thought she was something else, maybe something worse. But that's really all there is." He paused, glanced at the slow tap of Charlotte's foot beneath the table. "She's afraid."

The room was silent, most of them wondering what the hell was going on. But Charlotte wasn't fooled, nor did she understand Jack, what he thought of her, what he wanted from her. But she was sure that there was no one else he could be talking about.

"Right. Fabulous. Let's move on now, shall we?" Isabel said, snapping the students from their reverie. She passed out a stack of papers, efficiently cut Charlotte's thoughts short. "We're going to begin with Ivy League entry."

:::

Avery was the first to duck out of the classroom when Isabel finally gave up on that day's lesson plan. There was no one else in the hall when they were dismissed, and Charlotte followed her next, barely paying her any attention as she walked down the hallway, toyed with a flash of silver metal in her blazer pocket before heading into the girl's bathroom.

"I'm starting to think you're just depressed," Ella's voice called from behind her as the girl tapped Avery on the shoulder. "I mean, there are worse places to relocate, aren't there?"

"I'm not depressed," Avery insisted. "Really, it's just been…a rough day."

Ella nodded, as if she could possibly understand. The girl looked eager now, and her green eyes lightened when she suggested, "Why don't we change that? Grab a drink, get totally wasted. I have a credit card that...isn't maxed out for once." Ella waved the glittery plastic in front of Avery's eyes. "My treat?"

"I have somewhere to be," Avery said, aching to be away from here. She'd had so many moments like these, had been lured into the very situations that had eventually landed her here. _Avery, there's this kegger on Saturday. Avery, it's just a joint – don't be a prude. Come on, I bet they won't notice a few hundred dollars gone missing. _

"So skip it," Ella shrugged.

"No, I can't." Avery hoisted her bag higher up onto her shoulder and stepped away. "Sorry, but…no."

"Okay, newbie," Ella said. She was obviously hurt, and Avery felt a pang of regret. Perhaps the girl was just really desperate for a friend. "Give me a call whenever temptation strikes." Ella leaned forward in a hushed whisper, "I promise you that the booze will be endless."

And though it would have been easy to head in the opposite direction, shrug her off like she could to any one of her other peers, Avery pulled out her phone, watched Ella's sly grin form as she programmed her number in.

**Perhaps it's time to heed your own precautions, A. We all know the story of the fish who swam with sharks.**

**And it's not a happy ending.**

:::

_In the land of Gods and Monsters, I was an angel –_

_Living in the garden of evil._

_Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed –_

_Shining like a fiery beacon._

When Jack was younger, it was easy to pretend that he had a good mother. His father hadn't gone insane until he hit his pre-teen years, and they once bore some semblance of a normal family. His father used to make it to dinner most of the time, their maid would prepare Jack's favorite dish, then Ella's favorite on every other day. They were best friends once – all of them.

And on the day his father had been sent off to Bellevue, his mother smelled of Chanel and a just sip of liquor. His cheek was pressed into her shoulder, the little blonde boy clinging to his mother out in the cold. Ella hadn't wanted to speak to her then, had been convinced that it was their mother who had driven their dad insane. Jack, so young and naïve, had always refused to believe that.

"I'm going to take care of you, baby," his mother had promised, unsteadily setting her hands on his shoulders. "Mommy's always going to be here for you. Nothing has to be that different." There were tears in her eyes, and the little boy reached out to pat a stray one off her cheek. "We'll get through this."

And now, nearly a decade later, he stood over his mother's slumped, unconscious form, eyes rolled back, an empty bottle of whiskey in her palm. Her mouth was open, and traces of lipstick were now smudged around her cheeks and mouth, her mascara running in tracks down her skin. Jack watched her for a moment, emotionless, before clicking off their glowing flat screen and turning to clear the table of her various vices.

Jack wrapped his mother's arm around his shoulders, brought her to her feet in a swift hoist. She groaned, tottered on one heel, fell to one bare foot. Jack let out a breath, stared up at the ceiling. "You're alright, Mom."

Through the black crud gathered around her eyes, she looked up at him, smiled sloppily, grabbed onto his upper arm. "You're so good to me, darling. Always so good to me…"

Jack sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly smelled damp grass, heard gravel crunch beneath his feet.

_"Why are you being so nice to me?" Charlotte's forehead fell to his shoulder, but Jack pushed her away, turned her over to kneel on the grass and heave again. But he did hold back her hair, pulled it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck._

_"It's decent," Jack said._

_Charlotte shook her head, gasped through her gags. "It's hard to find decent."_

"Look, let's get you to bed," Jack said to his mother, steering her into the guest room of their townhouse, where they would not have to take the staircase. Besides, Ella was blasting music upstairs, just next to their mother's room. The last thing he needed was another drunken confrontation between the two.

Jack kicked the door open with the heel of his shoe, let his mother fall back onto the bed. She stirred when he dropped a duvet over her, whimpered against the sheets. "Jack, honey?" She peered up at him, and he tensed. "Why don't we talk anymore?" Tears fell now, soaking the pillow pressed to her face. "Don't you love me anymore?"

Jack stepped away from the bed. "When would we talk, Mom?" He prepared himself for more of her drunken ramblings until their doorbell rang across the townhouse. He cast one last glance at his mother before he left her there to get the door.

And found Charlotte Camden standing under the rain, skin trembling, black dress soaked to her frail body. This managed to surprise him, and she blinked back the water in her eyes when Jack murmured, "Jesus. What are you doing here?"

"I was lying," Charlotte gasped, pushing a brown lock of hair from her eyes. "But not about everything. I wasn't raped that night. You…misunderstood what you saw." The girl wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered, but Jack stood motionless. "My whole life was falling apart, Jack. I was done. I was so done."

"Charlotte – "

"I was ready to stop falling," Charlotte admitted, speaking over the heavy downpour. "I was ready to end everything. I couldn't bear the thought of all this – " She gestured out at the city, buildings and lights distorted through the thick rain. " – anymore. And then you found me. And now I'm standing here, and now I _have _to be afraid. And that's all because of you." Charlotte pursed her lips. "So, that's it. There's the truth."

"I wasn't trying to _save _you," Jack insisted, exasperated now.

"I know that."

"I don't want any new friends."

Charlotte shook her head. "And what makes you think that I do?"

Jack hesitated, listened to the gagging noises, the irritatingly loud music clashing in the air back in his townhouse. Charlotte shivered in front of him, waited. Finally, he felt himself give up, reached for a hook, grabbed for his coat and held it out to Charlotte. She took it, made a move to step inside, but Jack blocked her way.

"No," Jack said, pulling an umbrella from the stand in the foyer, opening it over their heads as he shut the door behind them.

"Where are we going?" Charlotte asked, stood beside him, glad for a reprieve from the downpour.

Jack didn't look at her, but felt his chest quake with relief when he replied, "Anywhere but here."

_No one's going to take my soul away._

_I'm living like Jim Morrison._

_Headed towards a fucked up holiday._

_Motel sprees, and I'm singing,_

_Fuck yeah, give it to me. This is heaven, what I truly want._

_It's innocence lost –_

_Innocence lost._

* * *

**A/N: **I just wanted to take a moment to thank every one of you who read and reviewed the first chapter of this story. I never thought that re-posting this would get such an amazing response, and I'm so grateful.

This chapter is dedicated to the lovely M. She's my graphic-making queen, so don't forget to check out the poster she made for The Wild Ones (where you can see what all of the characters look like as well). The link is in my profile.


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